


a shot of flame

by vaultboii



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hasn't seen the ghoul in a long, long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a shot of flame

**Author's Note:**

> and now we interrupt for a daily schedule of late works
> 
> Just a test really. Wasn't aiming for anything S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

The bar was deserted. Quiet and overrun by dust, it was a scrap pile of metal, rushed with age and forgotten maintenance. There were corpses; Raiders, Minutemen, Brotherhood, Institute, they were all the same hanging from the ceiling or in pieces between bar tables. Souls laid in restless slumber, times snatched too soon by the cold grasp of another’s will. Something creaked, but that was normal, with the roof hanging above him by a thread.

There were drinks, but they were well beyond their expiration date, and who knew what effect it’d have on a person.

Lucky for them, they weren’t human.

He stands in the doorway, watching the other living being in the bar gently test the drinks, disregarding any health concerns applying to them. There’s already a cigar perched at the edge of the Wastelander’s mouth, a stream of purple smoke trailing up from it filling the dead room. He guesses by the amount of bottles on the table his companion’s only been here for a little while.

Breaking the silence, he steps into the room. “That can’t be good for you.” He tells the ghoul.

The ghoul straightens, then barks out a harsh laugh. Turning around, Hancock’s bright black eyes stare into him. “And hello to you too.” The ghoul raises a glass. “Drink?”

“I’m good.” He waves off his friends offer, sitting by him. “It’s probably more rads then alcohol.”

Hancock puffs out a long trail of violet mist. “Nothin’ this old bod hasn’t dealt with before.”

Watching his friend blow another stream he feels around his pockets until he finds his cigarettes, half-empty and worn. His fingers go to where his lighter should be; they touch air and then he grimaces. Right. He lent his last one to McReady. Too late for any of that now.

Something thin slides in front of him. He looks over to Hancock, who’s deliberately looking away. “Take it.” The half-zombie gruffly scoffs. “Got no use for that any more, anyway.”

He lets a smirk flick the side of his mouth up. “Getting soft now, are we?”

Hancock doesn’t answer, but a smile on his face betrays him. “Anything for you.”

He hasn't seen the ghoul in a long, long time.

The cigarettes lights with the strong flame from Hancock’s lighter and he makes sure to tuck the lil’ flame close. Hancock catches that in the corner of his eye, and whilst the ghoul says nothing, he can tell that flustered the poor soul. Taking a much needed draught of nicotine, he relaxes back. Just him and the ghoul. Just like old times.

“How’s Goodneighbor?” He breathes out a sickly trail of gray.

Hancock shrugs, swirling the beverage around in that shot glass Nick knew he took wherever he went. He knew because he gave it to him, a long time ago, when they were younger and the Wasteland was smaller. “Same old, same old.” The man takes the cigar out of his mouth just to take a nice sip of the drink. The colour of the liquid matches the ghoul’s eyes. “Here and there. Raiders, all that crap. You know the deal.”

“You still have the shot glass.” He looks down at it, almost smiles. Almost. “What, you missed me that much?”

“You flatter yourself.” The ghoul laughs, and he chuckles along him. “Nah, it’s a trusty lil’ thing. Holds the booze without any damn leaks, and surprisingly the lil’ devil didn’t break when I accidentally dropped it from a counter.” Hancock makes a nice swirl with his beverage. “Haven’t tested that luck again though.”

“So, you missed me.” He teases, and that’s enough to set the mood back in motion, back to the familiar aura he enjoys hanging around.

“If you insist upon that, then yes.” Hancock’s eyes shine. “I missed ya.”

They’re silent for a bit, but it’s not like the other silence brimming with tension; no, this is a comfortable silence, restless with only puffs of smoke. Hancock blows a stream right in his face; he breathes in the second-hand Jet and rolls his eyes. “Still haven’t got off that crap, huh?” He asks.

Hancock looks mock offended. “Don’t insult the classics. This is top quality shit right here.” The ghoul makes a deep draught. “Of course’, it don’t give the same high as it used to, but it’s a fine mix.”

“If you say so.” He flicks his ash at the ghoul, just for payback. “Where’d you find that crap anyway?”

“Nate gave it to me.” Hancock grows sober at the thought. “Too bad the bloke’s away. I’d like to show him a real Chem.”

He hums, and replies. “Wouldn’t mind seeing him too.”

He’s just about to bring up how secure this area is when he hears a scream.

They both spin around. He doesn’t know where Hancock gets the shotgun from, but that’s enough encouragement for him to take his pistol out too. They stand up together, and that’s when he finds out what screamed.

A Feral Ghoul throws itself at him.

He nails the first Ghoul through the head, and Hancock bashes the second, and that’s enough for the rest of the pack to come shrieking in. The bar is suddenly full of unwanted visitors, and all target the sane ghoul, whose busy throwing swears around whilst murdering.

“You told me this place was secure!” He yells over the horde.

“It was!” The shotgun is thrown at him, and he nearly trips catching it, its sudden weight pulling him down. Two more Ghouls are near the Exit, and attempt to attack; he kills them with two well-aimed shots.

And then suddenly Hancock’s there, sprinkled in blood and gore. The moron’s holding a Molotov Cocktail, pulled through whatever pocket the idiot decided to store that in. “Lighter!” The ghoul screams over the sounds of the damned, and that’s enough for him to throw the shotgun on the ground, pull the lil’ lighter out hastily, then flick flame onto the makeshift bomb.

Hancock throws it, and then they’re out of the bar.

The bar explodes into bright orange, and the sounds of the damned scream only louder. Black, almost oily smoke belches upwards from the burning, and Hancock is breathing hard next to him, face a mixture of tired and relief. “Close one.” The man rasps. “Could’ve died in that one.”

Crackling flames. He can feel the heat even from their faraway distance.

“Well, that was a disaster.” He finally says, and that’s only when Hancock lets a little smile, sad compared to the others.

“Tell me about it.” The man looks down; he realizes he’s still holding the lighter, and slips it back into his pocket. “Least you still got my lighter. And I-”

A moment’s pause. Hancock swears. “-Shit, shit, shit.” The ghoul lets out, and he cocks a confused face until he realizes what the ghoul’s looking for. “I left your damn shot glass in there.”

“Just a glass.” He shrugs it off. “You got more. I lost your shotgun in there too.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just-” Hancock finally just makes a face, and then sighs.

There’s silence. This one’s full of tension. The flame had eaten that cheery part of the bar with the explosion.

Finally, Hancock speaks, and he realizes how long they had been standing there saying nothing. “I’m gonna have to head back now. Goodneighbor.” The man gruffly apologizes, harsh but to the point. “Gotta eat.”

“You’re off again?” He bitterly bites back a comment that could’ve made this day worse. “Alright. I’ll see you around sometime?”

Hancock’s already leaving. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah.” The ghoul reassures with the weakest of voices, and he can tell the man’s deep in thought, violet stream faintly visible among the smoke. “Yeah. Definitely.”

The man disappears, a speck along the broken highway. Alone, he watches the ruins for a while. He sees the bar collapse, as the building falls down, finally getting that rest it deserved. And, with the collapse of its food the fire finally dies too, smouldering into a weak bunch of coals that stir in some areas.

He wonders if the shotgun is alright.

He goes into the doorway of the bar, the only thing still standing. Ashes of wood layer the ground, and, if he could sneeze, he probably would be. The stench of fried flesh fills some areas, but he ignores it, shifting through ashes where he last dropped the shotgun.

All that’s left of the weapon is its inners.

And, as if some divine intervention took its hands and pushed away at the clouds, the evening sun shone as brightly as it could, illuminating everything. Something shiny catches his eye. Getting up, he walks over to the fried remains of the bar table, charred metal still sizzling to touch. Taking his robotic hand, he lifts the metal.

When he sees it, he laughs loud and clear.

* * *

 

When he enters Goodneighbor, it is night, and the villagers are staring at him. Still, he makes his way to the center, where Hancock stands; drunk as he is sober, smiling as bright as that tiny lighter’s flame, glowing as harsh as the Molotov Cocktail explosion, eyes as black as the rad beverage.

When his friend sees him, it’s like his eyes glow even brighter. The ghoul smiles a large smirk. “Well, ain’t it Nick Valentine, visiting in from the Capital Diamond.”

“Hancock.” He greets, and smirks back.

He reaches into his jacket pocket. There is the shot glass, rough in his hand but cool to touch. He takes it out, and now both of them are wearing identical, idiotic grins, sharing in a secret that no one knows.

“I think you lost this.” He tells the beaming ghoul.

Hancock laughs, until he’s laughing too and he hands the shot glass over into the ghoul’s scarred hand.

“Yeah, I think I did.” The ghoul tells him, and leads him into his town.


End file.
